Saviour and Traitor
by The Flying Hobbo
Summary: Two old rivals are visited in Azkaban by Dumbledore, ready to take once more the mantles they are used to wearing. Oneshot


Don't own Harry Potter, merely write stories about it. This is my first attempt at a fanfiction, don't know how it will comme out.

Saviour and Traitor

Somebody was walking. It was a sound they weren't used to anymore: nobody walked in Azkaban. The Dementors never touched the ground and the guards never came up here - no, no man dared come to the deepest level of the wizard's prison if they could avoid it. Bowls of a gray and foul porridge appeared for every meal, and that was their only contact with reality. The rest was a world of their own making, woven of shadows and fears, of guilt and madness. There was no light, but there was no darkness either, as if neither wanted to inhabit the place - not that they could be blamed for it, who would? But as it happened, somebody had come today, or was it tonight? There wasn't any way to tell, down here. Not that it mattered, such concepts were beneath them now: there is no such thing as time in Hell.

The last two cells were face to face and their inhabitants had both retreated in the corners of their domains, covering themselves with the shadows as one might with a cloak. There was irony in the fact that they had ended up next to each other - a last superbly cruel farce of fate, he supposed. Harry Potter's lips quirked in a mad smile. His head layed on the stone bench that had been his throne and domain since his first day here as he stared into space, his emerald eyes glittering like a dark pond under the moonlight. He was oddly calm for a prisoner, but then it had been a long time since he had stopped claiming he was sane. He knew perfectly well that nobody could stay here as long as he had and retain his sanity. The rags left of his once black robes - filth now made them some other, undescribable colour - covered incompletely his bony frame, letting appear patches of his pale skin. He shifted his body slightly, watching the man across from him. His once pale blond hair was now almost brown because of the foul grime and his face was even paler than it used to be in their Hogwarts days. The once handsome aristocratic features were weary and tired, beaten by the relentless assaults of horrific memories.

- Dropped dead yet, Malfoy? he asked in a voice made croaky by lack of use.

The Head of the Most Noble and Pure House of Malfoy stirred a little and threw a piece of rubble at the Boy-Who-Lived, missing by a large margin.

- Not before you will, Potter, the pureblood spat with amusement.

The sound of a man walking closer to them interrupted them and with a mild stupefaction the two prisoners watched Albus Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry walk down the alley of empty cells that was leading up to them. Malfoy smiled nastily and murmured under his breath.

- Fortune, on this damned quarrel smiling, showed like a rebel's whore.

Harry smiled at the barely veiled insults directed at the man who had caused to a certain degree both of their incarcerations. Draco had developed the habit of muttering under his breath unflattering poetry lines on whoever showed up after a few months in the joint, as he himself had taken the habit to stare unblinkingly into space - Azkaban brought out strange quirks in everybody that stayed there long enough. Sirius himself hid well his habit of clenching his hand every now and then, but Harry had noticed it in retrospective. It occupied the mind, led it away from pondering on their situation. The man in his strange robes and half-moon spectacles strode up to Harry's cell with a sad look on his face.

- Harry, my boy, what have we done to you?

Harry Potter looked into the blue eyes of the man who had once been his mentor, the closest thing he had to a grandfather and one of the only individuals he had completely trusted. Behind them, Malfoy cackled madly.

- One thousand galleons and your left kidney, Potter! Pay up, I told you your cavalry would come before mine!

- You still owe me your liver for guessing that guard's name, Malfoy. I'll pay up when you do.

- You used Legilimency on the poor chap to get it in the first place, it doesn't count!

- Tssk, your Dark Mark told you when Voldemort would be strong enough to send the Order scurrying like beaten dogs, you cheated just as much.

The noble "humphed" petulantly and made a show of turning his back to his fellow inmate. Harry returned his gaze to Dumbledore, who looked mildly offended his Order of the Phoenix had been called beaten dogs and slightly peeved at the fact that he had been ignored in favour of betting body parts with an ex-death eater. The Boy-Who-Got-Chucked-In-Azkaban-After-The-War was the first to break the silence.

- What do you want? I have a lot of brooding to catch on, I'll have you know.

The twinkle was turned on full blast as Dumbledore regained his grandfatherly smile.

- I'm here to correct one of the greatest errors the Wizarding World has ever made. I'm here, my boy, to get you out of Azkaban. I have helped the Ministry realize the error of it's ways and the whole of Great Britain is reclaiming your release!

The prisoner raised an eyebrow and snorted.

- You mean Voldemort rose from the dead for the second time- like I said he would, mind you, not that any of you fools actually listened to the man who's been able to look in his head since he was eleven years old - and gave the whipping of a lifetime to your Order of the Overcooked Chicken, meaning you need me to come and play hero for you again before the mess gets too big.

Dumbledore frowned, a look of concern so obviously faked that Harry had to refrain himself from bursting out laughing.

- Staying too long in here has obviously affected your mind. We must get you Hogwarts as quickly as possible, we'll be able to heal you there.

- Oh, you actually have a mandate to get me out of here?

- Of course, my boy, Dumbledore answered quickly, relieved the oddly calm prisoner seemed to take some interest in what he was saying.

A smile dangerously cold etched itself on the face of Harry James Potter, a smile that made Albus Dumbledore, called by many the most powerful wizard in the world, have an involuntary shudder. There was no hint of joy or satisfaction in that smile, only a cold, deep anger mixed with hatred. The facial expression equivalent of a dagger to the stomach. The prisoner got on his feet difficultly, dusting his clothes in a mocking gesture and gestured for the older wizard to open the cell dor, which he did with a wave of his wand. Harry stepped out of the prison and stretched like a cat that slept for too long. Ignoring Dumbledore, he crouched in front of Malfoy's cell.

- Want me to break you out now or wait for the Death Eaters?

- I do hope that is a rhetorical question, Potter.

- Harry, I don't think that is a wise...

- _Did I ask for your opinion, Dumbledore?_

The tone he used was cold and cutting like fresh steel, and the older wizard winced. Azkaban had definitely changed Harry Potter. But if releasing a single Death Eater was the price to have the Boy-Who-Lived under his influence again, he would pay it without second thoughts. He needed his pawn back, and Harry knew he did. Both the inmates scrambled to their feet and Harry wandlessly unlocked the door, Malfoy leaving his cell with a the calm and poise that had been drilled into him since his birth. Both of them silently conjured cloaks in a simultaneous gesture, Harry's with a collar of gold and crimson while Draco's was silver and green. Gryffindor and Slytherin, from the beginning to the end, no matter how warped they had become over time. But what did they had left besides mere appearances? The game had to keep on going, mad dance that led them all ultimately to their doom. But no heed was to be paid to consequences, there was a war to be waged after all. Mirroring each other, the mortal enemies turned talon and left behind a flustered Dumbledore, strolling in the direction of the surface.

- We should ask for cells with a view, next time.

- Hmm, I'm more of a mind to petition for better food.

- Potter, there is no point to making a petition if we are the only two signing it.

- Touché, the Gryffindor muttered under his breath.

And as calmly as if they were taking a walk in a park, they marched to the surface, bickering like children. For the both understood with a bleak despair that they were trapped in a cycle of their own making, and that they had to play their roles one more time: the Saviour and the Traitor. The last thing they left in their prison was murmured words by Draco: "It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."


End file.
